


Ok but We're Undeniable

by writerseventeen



Category: Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, US Comedians RPF
Genre: Drug Addiction, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romantic Angst, Romantic Friendship, john smoking cigarettes gratuitously, love these people, pete is beautiful fight me, wanted to write open relationship john mulaney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 09:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerseventeen/pseuds/writerseventeen
Summary: Pete has feelings for John. John thinks he may have feelings for Pete. But Nick is undeniable.





	Ok but We're Undeniable

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to say that this is pure fiction inspired by real and awesome people. This story does not at all reflect any of the characters' real lives. Please enjoy!!!

Pete had the brightest smile John had ever seen. They met for the first time in the writing room of SNL on a rainy Tuesday night. Pete Davidson had just been hired as the youngest person to ever join the cast at only 20 years old and John was anxious to meet him. Lorne entered the room with a hand over his mouth attempting to stifle laughter brought on by the self-deprecating wit from the baggy clothed young man trailing behind him.

“Everyone. Please welcome the newest member of the family Pete Davidson.”

Only five of the cast members were present that night and three of the show’s writers including John. They laid out a welcoming fruit platter and sat patiently in their chairs conscious not to cross their arms. Pete shuffled through the doorway with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his grey cap pulled almost all the way over his eyes.

Lorne stepped behind him, placed both hands on his shoulders, and walked him forward like a scientist presenting his timid AI prototype to a convention. McKinnon elbowed John and frowned sympathetically towards the poor kid’s nervousness. At 20, John was still in college and still exceptionally non-functioning around adults.

Lorne shook the lanky kid’s shoulders which prompted the kid to look up. After surveying his surroundings and quickly finding the rather unremarkable plain grey room filled with eight sleep deprived and horrendously dressed 30-year olds, the first thing Pete Davidson did was smile. And the first thing John Mulaney thought was _holy shit beautiful. _The smile stretched from one end of his face to the other with dimples rippling in its wake. His teeth shone so brightly they almost glowed. Its aesthetic potency arrived so startingly and unexpectedly that it seemed like this smile was a valuable possession Pete hid consciously behind his puffy red lips wary of its effect.

The awkward tentative energy in the room instantly evaporated and everyone found themselves smiling back at the newbie. Sensing the group’s impression of Pete’s was now favorable, Colin popped up and was the first to shake Pete’s hand. Then one after one, each SNL veteran introduced themselves to Pete and John was the last to shake his hand.

Once Hader’s tall frame ducked out of the way, Pete’s eyes visibly widened, and he coughed suddenly into his shoulder finding it difficult to meet John’s eye. John maintained his friendly smile and offered his hand and a cordial “nice to meet you.” Pete took John’s hand and John remained nonplussed at the sweaty palm that united with his. He was too distracted by the piercing smile being directed his way. “You’re my favorite writer. I die at all your work,” Pete had said with endearing sincerity. “Well I’m happy I’m good at my job,” responded John and then Davidson laughed and in his mind John thought, _I cannot wait to make him do that again. _

Although odd to the eye, Pete Davidson and John Mulaney were great friends. They found each other absurdly funny and loved spending time together watching indie movies on John’s couch, collaborating on acts at underground venues, or eating ramen bowls late at night in New York City. They were a textbook example of the notion “opposites attract”; John with his sociable 1950’s charm and Pete with his offbeat millennial appeal. On the SNL set, John’s bold and innovative way of creating content complimented Pete’s reserved yet perceptive way of executing it. And whenever Pete was feeling down, John’s optimism was always there to lift him up to get him through hard times.

But Pete, as a young and reckless success, had a lot of problems. He surrounded himself with loads of fake bullshit. He constantly needed distraction to keep his depression at bay and bought into the drugs, girls, and vacations prescription so many celebs fatally leaned on for spiritual sustenance. As a result, he got used over and over again by pretenders. His growing fame increased alongside his anxiety and depression and Pete found trusting people almost impossible after Ariana left him out of the blue. He had grown extremely dependent on her for his mental health- the proposal was a clear enough sign of that- and her accepting the ring and then returning the diamond sent him spiraling into a nightmarish bender. John was a few weeks out from debuting his and Nick’s show on Broadway when the breakup happened. Almost every night John’s phone went off.

Pete Davidson’s name flashed across the screen and he’d scramble to press answer. Pete’s slurred neurotic 3 a.m. phone calls begging John to talks him out of harming himself or killing himself became routine. It soon became the beating heart of their friendship and John found himself unable to focus on anything other than Pete’s wellbeing.

“John.”

John blinks and looks up from his phone. He had just received a text from Pete that read, _“bad day will need you tonite.”_

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear what I said,” asks Nick.

John thinks Nick must have asked him that about a hundred times since last week. His tone used to be lighthearted and amused but now he sounds plain annoyed. They’re at Nick’s city loft rehearsing lines and practicing their characters’ ticks. John glances at the digital clock on the wall.

“It’s already 11.”

“Yeah,” Nick sighs, “And we’ve barely got anything done.”

Nick tosses his script on the glass coffee table and leans back in his chair mumbling. John tries to remember what got accomplished in the last two hours but all that comes to mind is Pete’s name flashing across his phone screen. He squeezes his eyes together. They sting like he forgot to blink.

“Are you alright buddy? You seem pretty out of it. You have seemed pretty out of it actually.”

“Yeah I’m- I’m fine.”

“Is Anna alright?”

“What? Yeah Anna’s great.”

Nick bites his lower lip and nods at John’s phone face down on the table.

“She uh- needing you or something?”

John does not follow Nick’s lead, “No. She’s probably asleep by now,” he answers airily.

“Right. Look. I know who you’re texting over there.”

John’s attention whips to his friend who stares at him with concern. Nick can present himself so darkly at times. He lowers his voice and watches you with paralyzing intensity. With his arms crossed across his chest, the muscularity of his chest protrudes, and his physical presence seems to augment.

When they were in college, at bars or at parties, Nick frequently got into unwarranted aggressive encounters with men. He seemed to involuntarily project a threatening vibe purely because of his competitive appearance. One of his dominating features was his masculinity and he knew how to emphasize it towards his benefit. John on the other hand always presented himself as a squeaky pacifist and that worked well enough in helping him escape confrontational scenarios.

“Okay…”

“Is he alright? Pete.”

John swallows, “I don’t think so.”

“Buddy,” Nick sits up and leans his elbows on his knees. “You have to have boundaries.”

“I do.”

“You’re smarter than to lie to me.”

Feeling unusually defensive on both Pete’s and his behalf, John fixes his posture and raises his voice.

“I’m not lying to you Nick. I’d appreciate if you just let this go.”

“Why are you keeping this issue so close to the chest?”

“Is this what you consider letting it go.”

“Question. I asked one. Requesting answer please.”

John fights his impulse to be polite and respond. He curses his parents for fine tuning his conversational habits so much.

“I just. He doesn’t have anyone else to talk to about what he’s going through. He doesn’t have a person despite being surrounded by people all the time. I didn’t even know how close of a friend he considered me until…”

“Until what?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I feel…”

“Responsible.”

The word almost makes John wince. Despite being in the latter part of his thirties and married, he still struggles to manage his well being let alone Pete Davidson’s. His wife and his closest friends excel at taking care of their own problems. They’re very resourceful while Pete is the exact opposite: dependent, adrift, and culpable. John already deals with his fair share of anxiety and assuming someone else’s feels embarrassingly handicapping. He wonders how psychologists live day to day lives with their intimate acquaintance with dozens of troubled minds.

“It’s pathetic how difficult I find it being there for someone. Isn’t it?”

“No. Pete’s being unfair. He’s asking you to save his life every night. That’s not a burden anyone should bear. The kid needs therapy.”

“But it shouldn’t feel like a burden is what I mean. I care for Pete. I should want to be this for him.”

“Look, the kid’s selfish and he doesn’t want to get help. He’d rather have you prove you’re there for him over and over and over again, so you never abandon him. It’s not healthy for you or him.”

John stays silent for a moment, thinking, and Nick allows the discussion to breathe. He knows John always contemplates and considers his opinions out of respect but sometimes his mental processing takes too long.

“John.”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did anything ever happen between you and Pete?”

Nick had been wanting to ask that question for a long time. He held off because John seemed so happy with Pete. Nick had only met the younger man a few times. Each time he was stoned and acted blatantly possessive of John’s attention. He always had to sit next to him, share his cigarette, or walk with their shoulders touching. All indicative things of a bigger attachment problem that John seemed to be entirely oblivious of.

But with his opinion of Pete teetering more in unbias, he chose to like Pete considering how enamored John seemed with him. Sure, he questioned their friendship. So did Anna. Pete had the exact opposite qualities John seeks in friends or lovers. But sometimes Pete would laugh, and Nick would catch John gazing at the young man like he was the most precious thing in the world.

John swallows. His Adam’s apple prominently slides down then back up.

“Nick.”

With the tone John used, Nick’s name sounded like either an apology or an appeal to reason.

“John.”

Them exchanging names served as a reset to their conversation. Without being explicit, both could acknowledge the feeling that things said before were insignificant in comparison to things about to be said. Nick’s eyes bore into John’s downcast ones.

“Okay. Okay,” he rubs his palms against his thighs, “Make me a drink?”

He needed to lighten the weight of his consciousness. He also needed something to do with his hands. Tequila in a rocks glass would do nicely.

“Really?”

“Please Nick,” John said looking directly into Nick’s eyes.

One of Nick’s greatest weaknesses was denying John. Everyone knew it. The vice was conceived in their college days when a young John was not even close to approximating the “John Mulaney” known today. In fact, the tall child was considered to be a mess by most but to Nick, he was the most beautiful and intoxicating talent he’d ever met. At John’s best, he was daring, hilarious, and innovative. But in his lower times, he was needy, anxious, and brimming with self-doubt. He got addicted to drugs and alcohol by his second semester freshman year.

Nick tried to discourage his frequent usage, but he also partook in John’s routine weekend benders. You feel invincible and wickedly smart on cocaine. Together, they produced some of their best work late nights in Nick’s apartment while they were high out of their minds. Regardless, Nick could stop using whenever he wanted, and he thought John was capable of stopping as well. But when John started to snort coke just to get up in the morning, Nick stopped buying.

At first, John just shrugged and said he was fine with the sudden dip in supply but then he started to experience the harrowing effects of withdrawal and pleaded for the stimulant. And Nick- how whipped he must have been- all John had to do was look into his eyes and promise with a deep and reassuring kiss that he was fine. “I’m in control Nicky I promise. I just need a few grams to get me through exams. You don’t want me to fail right?”

John got more and more addicted to drugs the more success came his way and Nick became more and more addicted to seeing John succeed. Young crowds loved his standup. Internships were accepting him left and right. His projects received steady funding. Don’t get Nick wrong, he was still laser focused on his own career, but John was special. He was going to do groundbreaking things and apparently, he needed cocaine to do them.

After Nick graduated and moved to New York, John came close to fatally overdosing twice. His parents called Nick in complete hysterics demanding to know why “Nick, Nick, Nick” was the only thing their son could chant in his near-death state. They accused him of corrupting their son. They demanded that he fix it.

So, Nick bought a plane ticket to Washington and broke up with John. It hurt because you know, he was kind of in love with him, but his best friend needed to learn how to be independent. The truth was- just as addicted John was to cocaine- he was equally as addicted to Nick Kroll.

In the teary and lonely aftermath, John ended up getting clean as Nick knew he would, graduated, and proceeded to rock the nation with his prodigious comedic flare. He ignited the stages of SNL with skits suffused with fresh ideas and original characters. He rocked the hell out of award- winning standup performances and soared into producing roles. He met artist Anna Marie Tendler and fell in love with her bold and passionate way of existing, and Nick’s career took off too. His voice acting became acclaimed in A-list movies. Comedy central picked up many of his projects. He conceptualized and starred in his own TV show. Life was a dream come true for both of them and their friendship preserved through all of it. Their love- well, that was a different conversation.

Nick scans his for-display liquor shelves. The majority of the bottles were gifts. Barely any of them are less than 75% full.

“What do you want?”

“Tequila.”

“Tequila makes your shoulders ache.”

“Nick,” chastises John.

“Right sorry.”

Sometimes Nick gets a little too mother hen with John who recently turned thirty- six and was married years ago. He considers the habit a natural product of knowing the man too well. Nick begins to pour club soda into a glass when he hears John’s zippo lighter spark. He does not even look up from the tequila bottle as he pours it.

“John seriously man don’t smoke in here.”

“Don’t be uptight because our conversation is,” retorts John, his words stuffed with smoke.

Nick frowns. John could really be a little shit when he wanted to.

When they were young, John would always smoke a few cigarettes after sex. He enjoyed executing his old- timey aesthetics and they suited him well. The older man took many mental photographs of John nude, lying at the foot of the bed, running a hand through his mussed hair whilst exhaling an enormous white cloud. Nick liked to watch the smoke expand over John’s head as if the conglomerated particles were a ghost who trusted them enough to privately materialize in their room. When Nick found out that Mulaney had been smoking since he was only thirteen, he was shocked. _Thirteen_.

Yet Nick could never convince his friend to quit smoking. John insisted the habit was apart of him and without it, he felt unwelcome in his own skin. He says the nicotine, the burn, the smell brings him back to reality when he drifts too far into his mind. _“I love you Nick, but I love cigarettes more.” _

Nick conceded that John would always have his addictions one way or the other. Nick returns to the couch where John’s sitting at one end with his left leg crossed over his right and holding an already half burnt Marlboro to his lips. He looks deeply contemplative. Nick leans down and hands him the drink.

John forcefully exhales smoke from his nose like an angry bull and accepts the glass, “Thanks for putting the club soda in it.”

“You’re good at smoking but simply terrible at drinking.”

“I won’t deny what’s true.”

“Should I be concerned that mentioning Pete Davidson triggers a sudden all-in affair with your permitted substances?”

“Well, I don’t have Xanax on me right now so rest easy knowing you’re not as concerned as you could be.”

Nick chuckles and settles down on the leather chair across from the couch.

“Okay spill.”

“What? All over your nice tan carpet?”

“Cute.”

“You didn’t have to,” John’s turns away smiling bashfully but the next pull he takes off his cig screams anxiousness.

“I’m assuming something happened considering how touchy and distant you’re being.”

“Obviously,” says John, “Obviously something happened. The memory has been played over in my mind so much. It feels difficult to transform into words.”

“Why don’t you start simple with the setting. When did this happen?”

John laughs a bit self- deprecating, “Did I graduate with a degree in English?”

“When did this happen?”

“A month ago. We were-,”

“Ok and how-,”

“Let me finish we were having dinner at Nobu…”

***

If you snort good cocaine, you won’t even feel the crystals on the uptake. The powder blasts through your nasal canal and the euphoria careens straight into your brain and bloodstream. If you get a nosebleed on good cocaine, it’s light and fair retribution for feeling so unnaturally fabulous. If you snort bad cocaine, the powder probably looks like chunky cat litter and scratches the soft insides of your nose as you inhale. Sure, you’ll feel stimulated. Your heart will race. Your muscles will twitch. You’ll feel erratic and awake, but you won’t feel good. On the contrary, you’ll just feel like you’re dying and the nosebleed you’ll get won’t stop by simply sticking a napkin up your nose.

“Pete Jesus it’s really gushing out of you,” says John.

He’s perched on the very edge of his seat holding a napkin to Pete’s bloody nose with one hand and scrabbling for more napkins on the table with the other. The current napkin begins to dissolve in John’s hand as it rapidly soaks with blood.

“Waiter! Napkins! Please!” John yells.

He’ll chastise himself later for being so rude. Across the restaurant, their server plucks a generous number of napkins from a dispenser behind the hostess table and rushes to John’s side. He looks nervously from Pete to John. A few phone cameras flash in their direction. What a shitshow this is.

John grabs a handful of napkins and practically thrusts them in Pete’s face.

“Tilt your head back will you? Also, do something and hold this,” orders John.

Pete complies but slowly. He holds the napkins up to his nose. His pupils bulge out huge and black. He wears a strange close- lipped smile on his face as he watches John fuss above him. A few drops of blood escape from behind the napkins and trail down to Pete’s ears and hairline. They leave unsettling red streaks in their wake. John stares at them and digs in his pocket for his phone cursing as he struggles to pull the device out.

“Goddamn skinny jeans, Tan France,” mutters the comedian.

Finally, he frees his phone from his pocket and dials his publicist. He presses speaker with his thumb as he grips Pete by the elbow and hoists him up.

“Hey bro no-,” tries Pete but John’s in no mood to mess around.

“We’re leaving. Now. Get up.”

The younger man groans as he’s forced to follow John through the restaurant. Bright flashes and murmurs trail after the duo as they make their shamed escape. His publicist does not pick up the phone. He’ll have to send her an emergency text when they get back to his apartment.

No one recognizes them as they wait for their car curbside. The only thing they have going for them is that it’s dark. John has one arm thrown over Pete’s shoulders trying to shield him from people’s curious glances. Pete leans into him and after a minute or so, winds a careful arm around John’s torso, and hugs him tight.

Despite being pissed off at the younger man, John holds Pete tighter against him. He rubs his thumb soothingly over the curve of his shoulder, something he does to Anna when she stresses over her art. Their black car pulls up and Pete gets in first. As soon as the door shuts, John exhales loudly. He scrubs his hands over his face a few times. When he speaks, it’s muffled through the gaps of his fingers.

“Why.”

Pete shifts in his seat. Sometimes John’s adultness makes him feel so young, but it also keeps him alive so, he deals with it.

“Look man it’s not a big deal. You know, my bad for doing shit coke but my management can take care of the press. No worries.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.”

“Why would you snort street coke in the bathroom at-,”

As John lays out the biting question, Pete’s bottom lip begins to retreat into his mouth. Biting his lip helps him keep his composure and sometimes from his eyes watering. John has never made him cry but Pete downed way too much of his medication earlier and for the past four hours, crying has been patiently lingering behind a saran wrap screen only one depressing thought away.

“You know what,” John interrupts himself, “I’m not even going to finish that question. It was rhetorical anyways. Of course, I know why you do it.”

They sit in silence for a bit. Pete looks out the window and John’s hunched over with his head still in his hands. John’s always thinking about substantial things because he’s so damn intelligent but right now Pete bets he’s thinking about absolutely nothing.

“John.”

“What.”

“Please don’t make me go home.”

John rotates his head to make eye contact with Pete. The car stops at a red light. Orange light from the overhead streetlamp enters through Pete’s window and shines directly into John’s blue eyes. He squints at Pete, assessing him compositely, and sits up.

“You want to come back to mine?”

Pete swallows, “Yeah.”

John rolls his tongue around the inside of his cheek thinking.

“I can sleep on the couch or whatever. I’ll just go straight to sleep too. I promise I won’t wake Anna for both my sake. And yours.”

John cracks a smile at the mention of his wife. She’s truly terrifying if woken prematurely.

“Anna’s out of town.”

John’s voice sounds weird and Pete feels weird. He somehow always invites himself over to the Mulaney’s whenever Anna’s gone. The universe does love embarrassing him.

John taps the driver’s shoulder and scoots forward.

“Just one stop actually.”

John’s apartment smells like wood and paint, two of Pete’s favorite scents. The apartment is seventy percent living room. Anna uses half the space as her work area because she needs natural light from the tall windows. John walks into the kitchen and hits a few light switches. Bright light bursts into the room. Both men wince. John slowly turns the circular dial beside the switch pad decreasing the brightness.

“How’s your nose?” he asks tossing his keys on the kitchen island.

“Fine. The bleeding stopped I think.”

Pete realizes he’s still holding the bloody napkins and tosses them in the trash. They look unappealing sitting on top of the rest of the garbage. He feels like he should cover them or something.

“Your face is in a shape.”

Pete snorts, “Yeah I bet it’s gnarly.”

“C’mon. Bathroom.”

When they get to the master bathroom, John takes him by the shoulders and sits him down on top of the toilet. Pete avoids looking in the mirror at all costs. He thought he would feel more fidgety but instead he just feels tired. He decides to push the guilt off till morning.

John wrings out a washcloth in the sink. Pete watches his long fingers squeeze and loosen the cloth repeatedly. His gaze follows one winding vein which begins at his thumb and stretches all the way up to his tensing forearm. His white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows and his top few buttons are undone. Although slim, John’s strong- definitely stronger than him. He looked so good tonight too. No one wears a suit like John.

John turns to him with the washcloth in his right hand. There’s an awkward moment where neither of them move. Pete wonders if he should take the washcloth but then John fluidly crouches down in front of him. None of his joints crack as he does so unlike Pete whose body cracks when he so much as lifts a finger.

Wordlessly, John presses the soft towel to Pete’s cheek and begins to wipe the blood away. Pete sits stiff as a board holding his hands in his lap. John’s so near that the younger man feels compelled to keep his eyes trained on the wall. Because if they were to make eye contact, it would be way, way too intimate. He wants so badly to look though, to turn his head and see every detail on John’s face: his scattered freckles, his delicate eyelashes, his heart shaped upper lip.

The first time Pete saw John he thought _oh shit beautiful_. It was in the writer’s room at the SNL studio. John shook his hand, smiled warmly, and Pete immediately felt scatterbrained. During their brief meeting, Pete managed to stay composed, but he was positively charmed by Mulaney’s eloquence and charisma not to mention his savant-esque sense for comedy. No one ever made him laugh so hard and so much in such a short amount of time.

He was bewildered when John took an interest in him outside of work. Every time he hung out with John; Pete was reminded how shitty of friends he had. Actually, he was reminded of how shitty a life he had. All that his friends wanted to do was smoke weed, go clubbing, and sit around the house. Pete’s love life was a wreck too. He fell in love with girls who never planned on loving him back and could give a rat’s ass about his mental health.

John on the other hand was adventurous, caring, and always supportive of him. He was married to the love of his life and the two of them loved freely. He remembers John explaining his and Anna’s open relationship, but Pete was beyond stoned at the time. At the end of the day, when all of Pete’s friends abandon him and no girl returns his calls, he knows he has John. And of fucking course he worries if he over-burdens John. That’s like his and his therapist’s main point of discussion. Yet what can he do if he has no one else? 

“You’re too good for me,” thinks Pete aloud.

He wishes he were alone so he could hit himself, but John would no doubt interpret that as an immediate trip to the mental asylum.

John pauses. Pete can feel his eyes boring into him. He thinks he can see John frowning in his blurred peripheral.

“Pete. I-,”

“Wait no shut up,”

Suddenly, a roaring compulsion grips him. He needs to unload his feelings and he needs to do it now. If he represses them any longer, he may lose the precious tendrils of sanity he has left. John- a person not used to being told “shut up,”- shuts up out of honest surprise.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate you John. I know I’m shit at being a friend and I ask too much of you. I’m broken and problematic and probably need to check myself into rehab. It’s selfish of me to be your friend because I rely on you to basically keep me alive but… I also don’t want to be without you because I- because I think I-,”

Pete’s mouth moves but no words come out. He looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown with his eyes all teary, his voice beyond shaky, and his limbs spasmodically vibrating. John, still crouched on the floor, places one hand over the center of Pete’s chest and the other behind the nape of his neck. He presses his thumb into the fleshy divot beneath Pete’s ear and the pressure succeeds in soothing the younger man who proceeds to take deep breaths.

“Pete,” says John kindly, “Look at me and tell me what you think.”

Having his head cradled by John’s warm hands makes him feel ineffably safe. Tentatively, Pete lifts his left hand and entwines it with the fingers John has on his chest. He raises his other hand and places it against the brunette’s cheek who smiles at the tender gesture. With his hand in place on John’s cheek, Pete almost mirrors John’s positioning. He can feel how prominently his heart beats under both John’s hand.

Pete allows himself a moment to luxuriate in John’s absolutely stunning and undivided attention. Then he says the words.

“I think I love you.”

John smiles, all teeth and raw emotion. Pete smiles too looking deeply into John’s eyes.

“Pete. You have the most beautiful smile.”

An exhilarating dropping and swooping feeling plunges through his chest like a bird diving towards water and at the last minute, spreading its wings out to ascend skyward again. Pete’s entire body inflates with pure elation- spreading out from his chest to the very tips of his fingers. Pete readjusts himself on the toilet seat to fully face the other man. John follows the younger man’s lead and ends up on his knees between Pete’s thighs. The two of them stare passionately at one another with Pete looking down at him and John looking up.

“Can I. Can I kiss you?”

Pete’s voice sounds so soft and tentative. How can John say no? He moves his hands to Pete’s waist and in quite cliché fashion, tilts his head to one side and closes his eyes. Pete almost looses his breath at how gorgeous and delicate John looks in front of him. When he slightly parts his lips in preparation, Pete takes that as his go ahead and without another thought, he leans down and touches his lips to John’s.

As soon as their lips connect, everything melts away. Pete _needs _a prescription for this. John’s lips- much like his voice- induces a sort of pacifying effect but his kiss reaches deeper soothing Pete’s very soul. All Pete can think of and feel is John, John, John. He raises his hands and fists them into the brunette’s shirt pulling himself closer. John’s lips turn upwards in the kiss, charmed by Pete’s enthusiasm.

Every time Pete kisses someone for the first time, he takes it slow. And he imagines John- being his gentlemanly self- prefers respectful yet passionate affections. So, Pete keeps their kiss PG. He simply lets his lips rest against John’s applying light pressure. He postures higher in the kiss and has John’s upper lip cushioned between both his lips. He desperately wants to suck the supple flesh into his mouth, run his teeth along its edge, ravish the inside of John’s mouth with his tongue. He yearns to touch John all over, to push him to the bathroom floor and worship every inch of him. He wants to demonstrate his burning admiration for the man because sometimes feelings are best communicated through touch especially for Pete, having so poor a vernacular.

After a minute or so, John squeezes Pete’s hipbones and pulls away. A quiet whine escapes Pete who immediately longs for John’s perfect lips back on his. He keeps his eyes closed in denial, so the moment doesn’t end. He attempts to swoop back in for another kiss, but John catches his face in his hands.

“Pete hey. Look at me,” says John stroking his thumbs across the younger man’s cheeks.

Pete obediently opens his eyes. John’s gaze passes over every inch of Pete’s face- his forehead, his nose, his eyes, his lips. Then he places a quick peck on Pete’s lips.

“Beautiful.”

A pink blush flurries up from Pete’s neck and spreads across his face.

“Nah shut up.”

He tries to turn away, but John holds his head steady between his splayed hands. In the back of his mind, Pete takes note of the shot of arousal that accompanies the sensation of John not letting him escape. God, he feels so virginal right now. Pete’s used to having control in intimate situations, not being the one ditsy and spellbound. John Mulaney really does have him whipped.

“How are you feeling?”

“Uh, good.”

“Better?”

“Definitely.”

“Good,” says John then he winces.

Immediately, Pete fills with concern. “Hey man are you okay?”

“Yeah. Well, no. My knees have been against the floor for way too long.”

“Oh my god shit let me help you up.”

Pete takes John by both hands and slowly guides John get to his feet. Once they’re successfully standing, John thanks him and does a once over of himself in the mirror.

“Well I’m fucking exhausted.”

Pete laughs. He loves when John swears.

“Yeah same,”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and tries not to be awkward. He wants more to happen tonight. He wants to kiss John and hold him, but a tangible distance permeates between them. Pete feels like he lacks the right to initiate anything. Considering how managerial John is in their relationship, Pete assumes how intimate they get remains subject to John’s discretion. Which is fine. It makes sense with Anna and all. He can wait.

John turns to him and frowns.

“You’re really fine though right?” asks John.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I promise.”

John nods and runs a hand through his hair. Neither of them leave the room and Pete feels the need to clarify. 

“Are… we fine?”

“We’re fantastic. C’mon hug.”

Now hugging is familiar territory. Pete practically throws himself into the embrace. His arms go around John’s neck while John’s arms wind around his torso. They hold each other tight, squeezing harder with every second, loving the feeling of being constricted. When they release, spirits run high and Pete feels ready to sleep for a week.

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

***

Nick splutters, “You let him big spoon you? John.”

“I don’t recall saying I did.”

“Don’t give me that. You hate being the big spoon. You never let me little spoon.”

“Fine. Yes, I did. You know I can’t sleep without feeling secure.”

John exhales and leans back against the couch. Reliving the experience made him a bit tired. Nick sits across from him thinking quietly to himself. He’ll give his friend time to digest the information.

In the meantime, John considers lighting up another cigarette, but he’s already had four since starting his story. And as he expected Nick stopped complaining after the first one, it’s no secret that Nick likes to watch him smoke. _“You’re just so damn professional at it.” _

“So, you guys kissed. Where does that leave you?” asks Nick.

John scans his eyes over the ceiling. The warm glow of the alcohol begins to rise. Heat creeps up his collar and he dips his index finger in, pulling out on the fabric so air can flow through.

“In relatively the same place, but now I worry he expects things from me.”

“Well duh the kid clearly has a big fat crush on you. Kissing him teen flick style probably didn’t help the situation.”

John remains silent. Dark smoke roses from the glass ashtray on the lamp table beside him. The deep brown leather of the couch enhances the whiteness of his dress shirt and the paleness of his skin. He looks troublesomely out of sorts despite being in his element.

“You like him,” says Nick.

Joan groans and covers his face with one hand. “I shouldn’t.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.”

“What do you see in him?”

John reaches into his shirt pocket and delicately plucks out his box of Marlboros. He fiddles with the box in his lap looking down at it.

“It’s troubling because I have feelings for him. But I can’t have the best of both worlds. As egotistical as this sounds, I see him doing the same stupid shit I did and going down a dark path. I want him but then I think about you and how-.”

“You think about me?”

“Yes. I think about how you helped me overcome my addictions by forcing me to confront it. You were my lifeline. And without you Nick I would’ve,” John suddenly clears his throat, “I probably would’ve…”

John’s throat begins to clog with emotion. He can easily discuss his past substance abuse with almost anyone: family, co-workers, the complete strangers in his audiences. Seamlessly, he can joke about narcotics and depressants in casual conversation but with Nick present, he tightens up on the subject. The room feels heavier and sadder with divergent sentimentalism whenever he revisits that time.

On one hand, they were together then and things were close to perfect. They even toyed with the idea of marriage. Albeit, they were drunk most of these times but still, merely friendship never seemed like enough for the two of them. However, that all-encompassing two- way devotion which accompanies tying the knot did seem appropriate enough to dignify the unbreakable bond they shared.

But he represses the hell out of those memories because their relationship failing was all John’s fault. Just how much to blame is still difficult to swallow. He still hasn’t forgiven himself for subjugating his beloved Nick to such a selfish, demanding, and egotistical version of himself for all those years. For the latter part of their relationship after Nick graduated, John was high for every one of their interactions. Phone calls, dinners, performances, sex: all of it was tainted by the film of some substance.

“John. Are you alright?”

Nick’s voice snaps him back to reality. He zoned out hard.

“Fine. Sorry. What was I saying?”

“You were suggesting that you would’ve died if I wasn’t there for you during your addiction.”

Nick states the truth so plainly that there’s no room for John to comment on it.

“Right. How did you know that ending things was right?”

“You became too reliant on me. The same way Pete’s too reliant on you.”

In reflection, Nick’s foresight stuns John every time he thinks about it. He would’ve never imagined that removing Nick from his life would improve anything. Back then, all he wanted was Nick 24/7. He still feels ashamed for substituting cocaine for his friend whenever the longing got unbearable.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Nick looks wary. “Um. Of course?”

John plucks a cig from the box. He looks at it for a long moment and then sticks it between his lips. He speaks while looking out the window to the city.

“After I got clean. After I got… better. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

John’s eyes turn to him, solemn and blue. He wears a slight smile but it’s only for show. Instead of answering right away, Nick stands and walks over to the couch. John watches Nick closely- searching for hints of a reaction- as he sits down to the left of him. He removes the cigarette from his lips, placing it back in the box. Nick takes a deep breath and then turns to him.

“John,” he begins very seriously, “I did come back for you. You were taken.”

“What? You mean Anna?”

Nick intensifies his eye contact with John. His orbs enlarge marginally which seems to improve the blue luminosity surrounding them. The advance pierces him deeply and John adamantly fights not to look away.

“Who else?”

“We weren’t serious at that time.”

Nick scoffs and breaks eye contact, “Don’t disrespect her.”

John, realizing he spoke without thinking, sits up quickly and grabs Nick’s shoulder turning his friend, so he focuses on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…”

He’s speaking to Nick’s dark stoic profile. Behind his eyes, there looks to be a whirlwind of emotions circulating. And suddenly, John thinks he’s had enough of discussing his smoking-gun past for one night.

“You know what. Never mind. Sorry. I should get going Anna’s expecting me back.”

He stands, feeling undignified and inordinately upset, and reaches down for his folder on the table. Then Nick’s sure hand wraps around his forearm and John can feel the uncompromising strength of it.

“No. Say what you were going to say.”

His words are soft though.

John swallows. He doesn’t actually want to leave.

“Was I really such a catastrophe when we were together? So much so that you never wanted to be with me again after ending things?... Did I really fuck up things that bad? I still wanted you Nick. I still would’ve-”

“Face me,” orders Nick from behind.

As the younger man slowly turns, Nick slides his hand down from John’s forearm into his hand. He squeezes John’s palm reassuringly with his fingers and John instinctually squeezes him back. Then Nick swiftly yanks him forward causing John to lose balance, yelp, and fall into Nick’s lap. He lands gracelessly with a hard thump bearing all his weight. Nick winces at his friend’s bony edges but still smiles in proud accomplishment.

Holding onto Nick’s shoulders for stability, he pushes himself upright and stares affrontingly into his friend’s eyes.

“You smug asshole.”

Nick places his hands atop John’s thighs, rubbing back and forth soothingly. John shifts a bit closer in his lap causing his quads to protrude under Nick’s touch. Their closeness feel charged, full of intent. 

For Nick, slipping back into intimacy comes easy. But John, overthinking everything, touches with uncertainty. He slides his hands from Nick’s shoulders to his neck and leaves them there. He contemplates cupping Nick’s face in his hands- wordlessly admiring his handsome features- like he used to for minutes on end but decides against it.

“You didn’t irreparably fuck things up John,” says Nick looking up into his eyes, “It just wasn’t our time.”

A desperate vulnerable look fills John’s bright blue eyes that seems to be saying _please make this last longer_.

John decides fuck it and grabs Nick’s face between his hands. He spreads his fingers wide, eager to cover as much skin as possible, “Will it ever be our time again?”

“No.”

John almost sinks completely backwards but Nick acts quickly, darting forward and capturing him in a secure embrace. He winds both arms around John’s waist. The supple sides of his waist nestle into the crooks of Nick’s elbows. The flat of Nick’s forearms rest against the center of John’s back, pulling him in towards his chest. Beneath his fingers, he can feel the ridges of John’s spine. Once he has the younger man safe in his arms, he shakes him lightly.

“Hey. Look at me. It may not be our time again, but we’ll have times. Just like this one.”

John doesn’t even try to fight the water accumulating on the inner corners of his eyes. He hangs his head against Nick’s forehead still refusing to look at him. When his tears fall, they land against Nick’s shoulders. With his eyes closed and brain rummaging, John searches for the resigned solace he continuously maintains for situations like this. Deep down, he knows that Nick is right. Nick has always been right about them. John always thinks he has long accepted Nick and him being over, but his current reaction proves otherwise. It just hurts to accept that the one he truly loves will never be together.

“I’ll always love you,” says John.

“And I’ll always love you too.”

John finds it lightly infuriating that Nick’s smiling through all of this while he cries pathetically, but it wouldn’t happen any other way. 

“Stop smiling.”

“Make me Mulaney.”

John leans in and kisses the smile off Nick’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Nick and John. How did this happen?


End file.
